


all roads lead home to you

by Radiday



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-10-25 01:16:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20715680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiday/pseuds/Radiday
Summary: a collection of perfectly imperfect moments between new, and old, loversOr, Mary and Fred, through the years





	1. how we began

**Author's Note:**

> “The most intimate thing we can do is to allow people we love most see us at our worst. At our lowest. At our weakest. True intimacy happens when nothing is perfect.” - Amy Harmon
> 
> “I prefer to explore the most intimate moments, the smaller, crystallized details we all hinge our lives on.” - Rita Dove 
> 
> Because Mary and Fred are precious, and I've been thinking about all the moments I think they've had over the years.

Give him a chance, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Mary Moore makes a mental note to never listen to Hermione and FP again. She’d been waiting at Pop’s for forty-five minutes for Mr. Congeniality AKA Fred Andrews to make his appearance.

She’d finally agreed to a date after weeks of cajoling. She’d known Fred since kindergarten, and for the most part, found him to be insufferable. Nevertheless, she’d felt awful for him after his father died and took his taking an interest in her again as a sign that he was beginning to feel better. So she’d finally said yes. 

But now, now, she was kicking herself for her kindness. Once an imbecile, always an imbecile, she thought as she marched down the street towards Elm Street, where the Andrews family home sat amongst the other perfectly perfect suburban homes of this town. 

Fred’s mother answers after three knocks. “Oh, Mary, honey. Come in. Is everything alright?” 

“Well,” Mary says, willing herself to sound calm and collected. She had a reputation to uphold, after all. “Fred and I were supposed to meet at Pop’s tonight, but he never showed. I just came over to…”

“Give him a piece of your mind?” Bunny offers with a laugh, stepping aside and motioning her into the house. “Normally, I’d be right behind you. But he came home early from work with an awful migraine and went right upstairs. He’s been asleep for hours.” Mary follows Bunny’s gaze up the stairs. “Actually, why don’t you go pop in up there? It’s been a little bit since I’ve checked on him. His room is the first door on the left.” 

She won’t disobey Fred’s mother, but the last thing she wants to do is listen to Fred complain about a tiny headache. 

“Fred,” she calls quietly, opening the door into the dark room. She can just make out the lump of Fred’s body under the covers. 

“Hm?” Fred groans, lifting his head and squinting into the light emanating from the hallway. Mary stifles a laugh at Fred’s bedhead, but then notices his pale face. Maybe Mrs. Andrews wasn’t exaggerating. “Mary?” He asks as she steps closer. 

“Hey there. How are you feeling?” 

Fred lays his head back down on the pillow. “We had a date,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. I knew I was forgetting something.” 

“It’s okay,” Mary says, softening, running her fingers through his hair as he presses his face into the pillow. “Your mom says you’re not feeling well.”

“Headache,” Fred mumbles. 

“You get ‘em pretty bad.” 

Fred lets out a noise from the back of his throat. “Genetic. Grandpa used to get them so bad they’d knock him out for days.” 

Mary hums. “Hopefully it never gets that bad.” 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Fred says, still talking into the pillows, reaching his hand out blindly until he finds hers. “The date. I’m sorry.” 

“Freddy. You’re sick. Don’t worry about it.” She lets herself get more comfortable, sitting on the edge of his bed and rubbing small circles into the back of Fred’s neck. 

“You came to yell at me?” Fred says, eyes still closed. 

“I, uh- yeah,” Mary admits, sheepishly. “But I think I’ll let it slide this time.” 

Fred doesn’t respond, but settles deeper into the bed and sleepily throws an arm around Mary’s waist. Before long, Fred’s breathing steadies and she knows he’s asleep. 

No more than half an hour later, she feels Fred shift in his sleep. Before she even gets a chance to ask if he’s alright, he’s thrown the covers off of him and has begun stumbling out the door and towards the bathroom. 

She follows him, finds him hunched over the toilet, and if she squints in the darkness, she can see his spine jutting out from under his T-shirt. 

She runs her fingers down his back as Fred keeps gagging, and when he’s done, she wrings out a washcloth and presses it to his face. 

She’s about to ask what else she can do when she hears a voice behind her. 

“Freddy, darling, are you alright?” Mrs. Andrews says, stepping into the dim bathroom. It suddenly feels cramped, and Mary feels like an outsider. 

She’s about to excuse herself, thinks Fred’s mom is probably much better at giving him the comfort he needs, but Fred takes a hold of the tips of her fingers, using her to steady himself. 

“Fine,” he says, voice hoarse. “I’ll be fine. Really, mom. Just need to go back to sleep.” 

He keeps his head down as he stumbles back to his room, collapsing into his bed and tossing the covers over his body. The two women follow close behind, and once again Mary’s about to say she can go when Mrs. Andrews takes a hold of her arm. “Dear, maybe he’ll listen to you. See if you can get him to agree to see a doctor again about these migraines. I’ve been reading some, and they’ve got some new medications. They could help. He’s just so darn stubborn sometimes, just like his dad. But he’ll go if you say something.” 

Mary nods and promises she’ll bring it up when he’s feeling better, and Bunny gives her a quick hug before going back downstairs. 

She notices Fred’s dragged the garbage can in his room up next to his bed as she climbs in to join him. Fred groans and shifts closer to her, his face just barely peeking out from under the covers. 

“You should go,” he says. “I’m lousy company.” 

“I don’t mind,” Mary says, running her fingers through his hair again. “Unless you want me to go.” 

“No. I don’t want you to go.” 

Mary hums. “Then I’ll stay.” 

And they sit like that for long enough for Mary to lose track of the time. Fred shifts, and Mary braces herself for him to empty his stomach again, but he doesn’t get up. 

“Mare?” Fred says from under the blanket. 

“Hm?” 

“Could you- could you do that thing, on my neck?” 

“This?” She asks, pressing her thumb into his neck again and rubbing circles. “Feel okay?” 

“Mmf. Helps.” 

“Good,” Mary says, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “Try and sleep. We can get something to eat when you wake up.”


	2. what's in a name

She can hear him checking the locks, climbing the creaky stairs, starting the shower. He’s tiptoeing around her, in every sense of the word. He’d gotten a hefty tongue lashing when she’d come home from work, finding the trash she’d asked him to take out the night before still sitting in the hallway. 

She knows she shouldn’t have yelled. He’d worked all day, too, and she’s willing to admit that his work required more physical effort than hers. He was exhausted. She could have cut him some slack. 

But she’d been carrying his growing child around in her for the last eight months, so she thinks she’s earned a free pass. 

They’d eaten in relative silence, Fred knowing by now that’s it's better to let her have her space. She feels huge, everything hurts, and all she asked was that Fred  _ take out the god damn trash.  _

And so she’d gone to bed early, leaving Fred, nearly asleep himself, catching up on today’s sports highlights in the paper. 

It’s been about an hour, and he’s finally joined her upstairs. Mary sighs as she feels the bed jostle when he climbs in. 

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, smiling into her throat when Fred wraps his arms around her and nuzzles his face into her neck. Fred’s body is warm and still a little damp from the shower, and she feels like the coziest of blankets has just been tucked around her. 

She hears Fred’s warm laugh in her ears. “It’s okay,” he hums. “You get to yell at me all you want.” He leans out of the embrace, and Mary rolls onto her back. “Besides, you gotta start practicing your mom voice.” Then, after a moment, he sheepishly adds, “I took the trash out.” 

Mary smiles her thanks, only to be distracted by the fluttering by her ribs. “He’s kicking a bunch.” 

“Is he?” Fred says. Mary guides his hand over her stomach, laying it flat and pressing down gently. 

Fred feels the flutters under his palm and smiles ear to ear. He feels a particularly hard kick by the tips of his fingers, and Mary winces. 

“Hey,” Fred says, pressing his nose into Mary’s growing belly and gently tapping his finger on it. “Cool it in there, would ya? I know your cramped but you gotta get a little bigger before you’re ready to come out, buddy. And could you please stop using Mommy’s bladder as a punching bag? I’ll take you boxing all you want when you’re older.”

Mary’s heart feels like it’s going to burst. She’d never been one of those girls that dreamt of being a mom, but Fred’s growing excitement was contagious. What a lucky boy this kid will be. 

“We’ve got to give this kid a name,” Fred says, pulling the covers up to his bare chest. “We could call him Elvis. Or Bruce.”

“Bruce?”

“Bruce,” Fred says, sitting up on his elbow. “Bruce Springsteen.” Mary blinks at him blankly. “ The Boss. How am I married to someone that doesn’t know the greatest musician of all time?” 

“I know who he is, honey. I just think the name ‘Bruce Andrews’ is a little hokey. I can practically hear your ancestors rolling over in their graves.” 

Fred feigns shock. “I’ll have you know that great grandpa Andrews was a music connoisseur and and would be thrilled to know we’re naming our son after one of the greats.” 

Mary shoots him a glare. “No.” 

Fred huffs, collapsing back into the pillows. “Well I don’t see you coming up with any ideas.” 

“I just think we need to see him to know. How can we name him without actually meeting him?”

“If we wait until we meet him, we’re going to end up naming him something awful. Like Leanord. Or Archibald.” 

There’s silence for a second, and Fred knows right then that Mary’s actually considering it. 

“Archibald,” she murmurs. 

Fred shoots up again. “Mary, if we send him out on the playground with a name like Archibald, he’s going to get the snot beat out of him.” 

“Well, we don’t have to call him Archibald all the time. Nobody calls you Frederick. We could shorten it. Call him...Archie.”

“Archie?”

“Archie Andrews,” Mary says, smiling as she rubs her belly. “It’s cute.” 

Fred huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes. “Mare…”

“Sleep on it,” she says, patting his cheek. 

“I’ll sleep on it,” Fred says, rolling back onto his side to kiss Mary on the cheek. “Goodnight.” He presses her forehead into hers. “I love you.” 

“Love you.” 

“I was talking to Bruce.” 


	3. never without misery, never without hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: miscarriage

“I forgot the meds in the car. You go lay down, I’ll be right back.” 

Mary watches Fred barrel down down the front steps and turns towards the couch. She doesn’t want to lay down, even though it’s what the doctor, and Fred, told her to do. 

She doesn’t want to lay down. She doesn’t want Fred to go get the meds. She doesn’t want there to be meds for Fred to need to go and get. 

She wants a baby. She wants _ this _ baby. She didn’t know if she wanted a baby before, but then she found out she was pregnant, and that was it. She was sold. Even through the nausea and exhaustion, she knew this was meant to be. 

But then this. She started bleeding at work, and before she knew it she was meeting Fred at the hospital and a grim-faced doctor was handing them a pamphlet on miscarriage. 

“Honey,” she hears Fred call quietly from behind her. “Let’s go lay down.” 

“I don’t want to lay down,” Mary says, monotonous, gaze fixed ahead of her. 

“Mary.” Fred’s hand and gently on her shoulder, and she jumps. “The doctor said you needed to take it easy.” 

She climbs the stairs, her body numb to the world around her, so she can barely feel Fred’s hand on her back as they round the corner to their bedroom. 

“Do you want a shower?” he asks, and she shakes her head, because it’s all she can manage, and climbs into bed with her work clothes still on. 

She feels Fred climb in after her, feels the anxiety emanating from every fiber of his being. “What can I do?” he says, his voice soft, but still coarse and raspy in all the ways that she loves so much, all the ways that would make her wild on any other day. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, her back turned to him, knees drawn up. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Mary…”

“I’m sorry.” The tears start to spill out of her before she can stop herself. She covers her face with her hands because she’s ashamed, so ashamed, that she’s here, that this happened, that she can’t do the one thing her body was biologically designed to do. That she can’t give the man she loves the one thing that he wants in this life. 

Fred turns her over and wraps his arms around her, holds her tight and rocks her and tells her that it’s okay and it’s not her fault. Part of her knows he’s right, and part of her is angry because she was never the little girl that dreamed of being a mother. She never played house, never dreamed of a white picket fence. But then she met Fred and they got married and she started to warm up to the idea that maybe the world needed a mini Fred or Mary running around. And then she fell in love with the idea, and fell in love with a person that didn’t yet exist. 

But then that person did exist. And now… they were gone. 

The part of her that’s angry is the same part of her that blames Fred, because if it wasn’t for him, she would have carried on with her life without ever thinking twice about children, without ever having to experience this kind of heartbreak. 

She’s torn between letting him hold her or batting him away, yelling at him and screaming and asking why, _ why did you insist on this _, on a child, why did you make it sound so wonderful when all it’s been so far is devastating. 

But she’s so, so tired and she feels Fred lulling her to sleep, so she lets him. The yelling will come later, maybe tomorrow, because she knows herself, knows that she’ll have to get it out of her system and knows that Fred will let her. Maybe Fred’s secretly angry, too. Who knows. 

All she knows now is. that there’s no third party, no child, no little Mary or Fred. Now there’s nothing. 

Except the two of them. And that’ll have to be enough for a while, she thinks. There’s no other option.


	4. won't leave you hanging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep telling myself I need to finish old shit before I write new shit but here we are. Also, side note - nothing happening in season four exists for me so I'm just going to keep living in my happy little bubble.

“Today’s your lucky day, Fred. The doctor cleared you to go outside, if you’re up for it.”

Mary watched as Fred’s eyes light up as his nurse, Lauren, delivered the news he’d been waiting for since he got shot last week. She has to stop herself from laughing when Fred tries to get up from the wheelchair he’d been situated in since this morning, reaching for the crutches resting against the wall. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Lauren says, ushering him back down. “If you want to go outside, you’ve got to stay in the chair.”

“But-”

“No buts. You got shot less than a week ago, your body isn’t ready for that just yet. Mary will push you, right?” Lauren says, looking to the redhead for support. 

“Right,” Mary says firmly, rising from her own chair and removing the brake from the wheelchair. “You ready?”

Fred lets out a frustrated sigh. He opens his mouth in protest again, but then decides against it. “Yeah,” he says instead. “Lead the way.”

“Good boy,” Mary says with a laugh, patting his shoulder. 

* * *

He shivers in the mid-November air, the wind sharp against his skin as if it’s the first time he’s ever been outside. He wraps the hospital provided robe tighter around himself, stopping only when he feels his stitches pull. 

“We shouldn’t stay long,” Mary says, laying out the blanket she’d brought along over his lap. She zips up her own coat. “I didn’t realize how cold it was.”

Fred hums in response, but he’s not really listening. Mary watches as he lifts his face up to the sun, taking in the fresh air for the first time in days. 

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, watching his brow furrow at the sky. 

“Pop’s,” Fred says.

“Pop’s? Are you hungry? I can get-”

“No, no,” Fred says. “Just- I don’t know. I guess I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that this happened at Pop’s. I took you there on our first date, do you remember?”

“I do. But that wasn’t our first date. It was our second.”

“I thought you said that night at Fox Forest didn’t count.”

Mary smirks. “I changed my mind.” 

Fred huffs out a laugh, then grows solemn again. “Dad took Mom there on their first date.”

Mary nods along. “My parents too.”

“It’s where Archie met Veronica. And now it’s just… ruined.” 

“Honey…”

“You know, right after Oscar died, Mom and Dad would fight for hours. Dad wanted to start getting rid of his things and Mom wouldn’t hear of it. She wanted his room to stay exactly the same. And I just couldn’t take it. I had to get out of the house, so I’d go to Pop’s. Sometimes it would already be closed when I got there, but someone would always be inside cleaning up, and they’d let me in and give me whatever leftover food they had. Pop had some cots in the back for when the weather got real bad, and if I really didn’t want to go home, he’d let me stay the night.”

“That’s sweet, Fred.” 

“It was my first real job.” 

“I remember.” 

“And now what? What’s Archie gonna remember it as, now? What’s he gonna do, take his kids there and say, ‘hey, this is where Grandpa got shot?’” 

“He’s gonna tell them it’s where Grandma and Grandpa met. And where Grandma and Grandpa’s parents met. And where Mom and Dad met. He’s gonna tell them that it’s where Grandpa brought him and all his friends every Saturday after Little League practice for ice cream. And, sure, maybe some bad things happened there too, but name me a place where they haven’t. The bad doesn’t outweigh the good, Fred. I mean, take this place,” Mary says, gesturing to the hospital behind her. “A lot of bad things happen here, but it’s where Archie was born. So it’ll always be special.” 

Fred lets out a wet laugh, swiping at his face. “These meds have my brain all turned around.”

“Or,” Mary says, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek, “you’ve just gotten soft in your old age.” She waits for Fred to crack a smile, then continues. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”

“We?” Fred says, craning his neck back to look at her. 

“We. Always. Now come on,” she kicks the brake off the wheelchair and starts pushing it towards the door, “let’s get you warmed up.”


	5. circle of life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is more Fred and Archie than Fred and Mary but there’s a moment at the end so I say it still counts

He knew it was coming, sooner or later. Archie had just started kindergarten and Fred knows that’s when the questions start. The questions about the here and there, life and death, good and bad. He thought he was ready. 

But when Archie looks at him with those innocent eyes one night as Fred lays with him at bedtime and asks, “Does everybody have a dad?,” he realizes he’s less prepared than he thought. 

“Well, technically, yes,” he starts after a moment of silence, after a moment of praying that this conversation doesn’t go where he thinks it’s going. Maybe he can distract Archie. Shift his attention. Give him something else to ask questions about. “But some people have two mommies or two daddies, and some people have a step-dad, like Georgie from school. And some people have dads that died, or that they don’t know.”

“Do you have a dad?”

There it was. So much for distraction. 

“Yeah, buddy.”

“Where is he?”

“Well, he died a long time ago, Arch. Before you were born.” 

“How come?”

Fred sighs. No going back now. “He got sick, son. Sometimes that happens to grownups.”

“But didn’t you take him to the doctor?”

Fred can’t help but laugh at his little boy’s perfect, pure soul. “Or course, kiddo. But the medicine they gave him didn’t work too well. So he got sicker and sicker and then one day… he died.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Every day,” Fred says, and he means it. “But I talk to him all the time.”

“You can do that?” Fred stifles a laugh at Archie’s wide eyes. 

“Well, he doesn’t talk back, but yeah, you can do that.”

“What do you tell him?” Archie asks, settling his head on his dad’s outstretched arm. 

“Oh, all kinds of stuff.” Fred pulls the cover up over Archie’s chest. “I tell him about work, and about Mommy. But mostly I talk to him about you.”

“Really?”

“Sure. I tell him about how you’re doing in school, and in Little League, and about all the silly things you and Betty and Jughead do.” He reaches over to ruffle his son’s hair. 

Archie shifts, his hands thumbing the covers nervously. He opens his mouth then closes it again, and for a moment Fred thinks the conversation’s over. But he watches his son steel himself, can almost see him gathering the courage to ask what comes next. “Are you gonna die?”

Fred tried to ignore the pit in his stomach. “Someday, yeah, bud. But when I do you can talk to me just like I talk to Grandpa Artie.” 

“Am I gonna die?” 

“Everybody dies, Arch.”

“Even mommies?”

_ Ah, the sweet innocence of childhood.  _ “Even mommies. You know Charlie from Little League? His mommy died when he was just a baby. But that’s not something you have to worry about for a long time, kiddo.”

Archie seems to think this over for a minute, and finally seems satisfied with Fred’s answer. “Can I talk to Grandpa Artie too?” he asks. 

Fred tries not to sound stunned. “Sure you can.”

“Do I have to go to the cement-tary to talk to him? Betty says it’s haunted.”

Fred laughs. “ _ Cemetery _ , buddy. And no, you don’t. That’s what so cool. You can talk to him whenever you want, wherever you are.”

“Like right now?”

“Like right now.” 

“Hi, Grandpa Artie,” Archie starts, tilting his head up towards the ceiling. “It’s Archie. Daddy says I can talk to you whenever I want, which is really cool. I asked Betty to marry me last week, but she says we’re too young. Do you think we’re too young?”

“You’re too young,” Fred murmurs, running his fingers through his son’s fiery hair. 

“Shh, Dad,” Archie scolds, pressing his index finger to his dad’s lips. “I’m talking to grandpa.” He turns his attention back to the roof. “She also told me that Jughead’s getting a puppy for his birthday. I asked Mommy if we could get a puppy but she said she didn’t think Daddy would like that. Maybe you can change his mind. I want a boy dog. I’ll teach him to fetch and everything. And he can sleep in my room. Anyways, that’s everything I wanted to talk about. I’m hanging up now. I love you.” 

Archie nods to himself, satisfied with the conversation. He looks to his dad, and Fred watches his face fall. “Did I make you sad?” 

“No, buddy,” Fred says, “What makes you say that?”

“You’re crying,” Archie says, as solemn as a six year old can. It’s only then that he realizes his eyes are wet, that it’s hard to see not because of the dim light but because of the tears clouding his vision. 

“Sometimes grownups cry when they’re happy,” he says, reaching up to wipe his face. 

Archie watches his dad closely, furrows his brow as he settles deeper into the bed. “Grownups are silly.”

“Yeah, Arch, we are. And your mom’s the real grownup because she’s going to ground us both if she finds out you’re still awake. It’s time for bed, kiddo,” Fred says, reaching over to kiss his son on the forehead as he climbs out of the race car bed Archie had begged for. “For real this time.” 

Archie’s asleep before he even leaves the room. He slips out the door, shutting quietly behind him when he sees Mary waiting for him outside the master bedroom. 

“You are such a good dad,” she says, wrapping her arms around Fred’s waist as soon as he gets within reach. “Your father would be so proud of you.” 

“Don’t make me cry,” Fred says, laughing wetly. “I just put my makeup on.” 

Mary reaches up to wipe the unshed tears from her husband’s eyes. “Come on, beauty queen. Let’s go to bed.” 

Fred lets himself be pulled into the bedroom, looking back towards his son’s room, remembering their conversation with a laugh. “Hey,” he says, getting Mary’s attention. What’s this about a dog?”

**Author's Note:**

> Luke Perry forever. Legends never die.


End file.
